Five times they weren't holding hands and one time they were
by Millijana
Summary: six snippets of Jo and Fenris during their relationship. Six times their Hands were touching but only one time they actually knew it.


1.  
It wasn't really holding hands in its actual meaning. But she would never forget her amazement how soft his hands were.  
And probably the releasing feeling of not falling down this damned scaffolding.  
He smiled at her his darn crooked smile. "You should be a bit more careful, Detective."  
When he pulled her back into stability she freed her hand from his grip. "Thanks."  
Her heart beat still fast from the shock - so much that she had no idea how to answer to him, not even a sarcastic thought on her mind.

2.  
the film was getting more suspenseful. She had a tough job but this trip to the cinema to watch some kind of horror-suspense movie got her. She liked those movies, but not in a cinema and more at home safely on her couch with a beer.  
It had been Anders' idea for Bethany's visit this weekend. Jo was grateful that they got along pretty well, but she was also pretty sure that there was more between them than just friendship. She was also not sure if they were aware of this themselves.  
Jo stopped thinking about it because the girl in the movie heard a creepy sound from upstairs and made her way up the stairs to look what had caused it.  
Jo grabbed another handful of popcorn and jumped in her seat when another hand found its way into the bucket of popcorn.  
She looked in his direction and smiled when he muttered a low apology.  
Then he smiled, too. He didn't remove his hands until the girl in the movie started yelling and screeching and they both returned their attention to the screen.

3.  
It was early. Too early, if someone asked her, but no one did of course. she knew why she had to get up at this unholy hour of the day, but she refuses to see anything good at it. The shower didn't even sound like a good idea. But coffee did; it sounded perfect.  
He was already sitting there the mug in his hands, hair still damp and she had to admit he looked incredibly handsome. Still half asleep reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee. She smiled while she turned away from him and poured some coffee in a mug for herself.  
When she returned to the table and took a seat he was combing with his fingers through his hair.  
She asked herself if he did this on purpose, but decided not to throw too much attention at it would be the best to control the intense wish to touch his hair herself.  
She grabbed one of the newspaper pages he's already read and started to browse the headlines. There was nothing that could distract her enough. Gladly there was still the shower. It would be a cold one, definitely.  
Without looking up she reached for the sugar and felt his warm skin under her fingertips.  
Their eyes met over the rim of their newspapers and their gazes locked for a few moments. She did not even breath. Could. Not.  
Then he blinked and withdrew his hand slowly from the sugar dispenser and she saw him smiling. She did not need to see his mouth; his eyes were enough to know he was smiling again. And it made it even worse.  
She never drank a coffee this fast. Her tongue got numb after three too hot swigs and she gave up after the half of her mug.  
The shower would indeed be cold; maybe the coffee too afterwards.

4.

"Let me go!" she hissed in his face.

"This is suicide."

"Maybe, but I'm old enough to decide for myself when to die." All her stubbornness was in her voice and shown on her face. She was angry; even more than that. He had told her he didn't trust her. So he had no right to do this. He had decided they were no team anymore, so he had no right to do this.

His eyes widened a bit and she knew it were harsh words; possibly too harsh. His grip around her hands tightened and he clenched his jaws together.

His hands which she remembered so soft from the few touches they had shared held hers even harder until it hurt. She was sorry it had to be this way, but it did not change anything.

He could come with her, he could trust her, or leave. It was his decision.

Like it was hers to enter this house without backup; it was their only chance.

She bent her fingers until it felt like she was returning his grip. She tried to put as much strength in this gesture as possible.

And something changed in his eyes, until his touch got softer and he stopped hurting her. He took a step back until her back no longer was pressed against the wall, yet their hands held each other's.

5.  
Was it warm? She could not feel it. She could feel nothing but his hand. Both of them, one on her cheek the other one on her upper arm. He's yelling at someone around them. Who was there? She's forgotten it. Where were the others? Were they hurt too?

She knew Anders had been there in her car. It felt like years ago that they argued about him being left behind while the rest of them left for the bad guy. But it had been right.

She was lying here, and not him. She was bleeding. Oh yeah she was stupid enough to catch a bullet right in her stomach. She'll possibly die here.

He looked at her and she realized he was in panic. He was afraid. He had been so strange before they had entered the house. She'd thought it was just the excitement of knowing that this was the last chapter of a story that should have been over for a long time. But now she saw the same expression on his face. He'd been afraid. He'd been afraid that something happened to her. And it had.

His eyes were glistening and she was glad he was there. She lifted one hand to touch his hand, his hair. Strands have fallen into his face and were wet from the rain; Small beads of water dropping from their tips.

But her hand was too heavy. She could barely lift it high enough to let him recognize it. But he did see it. He took it and placed it on his cheek, kissed her palm. He told her not to move, not to speak. Save her breath. When she was fine again, they could talk.

But she was sure this was the last chance. She would not place a bet on her survival.

"I'm sorry", was everything she could say, before it got blurry. She heard him whisper desperately. Begging her to stay awake; she wanted to, but she did not know how to open her eyes. She did not even know they were closed. His voice sounded far away, receding even further. She was sorry she'd not told him earlier. She was sorry she'd been so angry and stubborn. She was sorry to give him not enough reasons to trust her.

6.

Everything hurt. There was this sound. It's bothered her for some time, though she'd not been actually aware of it. But now that she was able to hear it, she knew it. Breathing was difficult until she realized she was intubated and she just had to breathe with the breathing apparatus instead against it. Ha, easier said than done. Whose idea was it anyway to let people in this state? If you wake up after a surgery the first thing you realize is you can't breathe properly. Still, something was strange about this. She felt like she had slept for days. Wait, how long had she been passed out? She needed someone who could tell her what had happened and what date it was.

She was cold. The blanked was not warm enough. Or it was fever, or maybe she was dead and this was some kind of out of body experience. But no, there was one warm part of her body.

It was not necessary to open her eyes to know whose hand it was that was holding hers. Yet she did open her eyes.

He was asleep, his head resting on his forearm on the edge of her bed. His regular and deep breath was calming her down. The panic that was overwhelming her crept back to where it came from. He was wearing something different that the night they had entered the house. The night she lay bleeding on the floor of the living room of a man she had just killed.

It was not her intention to move, yet she did it. He'd hit her in the stomach and she was afraid there had been damage to her spine so she would not be able to walk or move her legs in any way. It would not have been the first time she's seen this.

This was enough to wake him up. His head lifted abruptly from his arm and he stared at her in surprise. His grip got more intense until he realized he would hurt her. He rose fluidly from his chair and hit the nurse call.

Then he turned back to her and touched her lightly on her cheek and stroked her softly with his fingertips. The other hand was still holding hers; caressing her hand with his thumb.

She just watched him and his amazement.

"And before you get the ability back to speak, it is my turn to tell you something."

She raised an eyebrow questioningly and tilted her head a bit.

"I am sorry. I should have trusted you. You gave me every reason to, but I was too ignorant to see it." He sighed and dropped his gaze for a moment. "I was overchallenged by my feelings and the fact you are a cop and my experiences that I could not see what was important."

She fought against the breathing apparatus. She wanted to tell him that this was not true. She wanted to tell him it was not his fault. But he just smiled.

"That's the reason I told you now. You cannot interrupt me. And when the nurses and doctors come they will set you back to sleep. And maybe I'm lucky enough you forget about it."

She would have smiled if it would have been possible. But it was possible that a tear escaped her fast blinking. He caught it with his fingertip and smiled.

They heard the nurse calling for a doctor after she had opened the door. He kissed her fingertips and stood back while the medical personnel did their job.


End file.
